Worlds Apart
by Knight Ranger
Summary: On a night where everything that can go wrong is going wrong, a man named Chandler discovers reality has taken a flying leap into the Twilight Zone.
1. A Case For Mulder and Scully

**Worlds Apart**

Chandler slowly stared up at the sky. The few drops he'd felt on getting out of the car were rapidly turning into a downpour. This had been his luck all night. Ripped off by a scalper for front-row tickets which in reality placed him somewhere in the rafters behind a pillar. Standing through a piss-poor support act, only to be the told the headliners had cried off. Driving all the way back from Hartford, only for his car to break down an hour into the journey. Now it was raining.

A low rumble filled the air and a flash of light gave the slate clouds a murky yellowish tinge. Chandler lowered his head. Could tonight suck any harder? A soft whine told him it could. Flicking his eyes down, he saw a scraggy stray dog at his feet start to cock its leg. Jumping as if stung, Chandler just managed to evade the canine's bodily function. "Crazy mutt! Look," he told it, pointing down the road, "there's Dan Aykroyd in a Santa suit, go pee on him." The dog looked balefully up at him, then scampered away.

"Atta boy!" Chandler muttered. Drenched he may be, but he was damned if he was going to finish up smelling like the public urinals on a Saturday night. He looked at the rest of the traffic. Everyone was just as anxious to get home as he was, there was no way anyone was going to stop to pick up a random stranger. Sighing, Chandler pulled his collar up, stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking into town.

Eventually finding a phonebox, Chandler rang a towtruck company who said they'd send his car onto New York, for a sizeable fee. Jesus, the wreck was costing him a frickin' fortune. If it wasn't tow fees, it was the inevitable repair bills for every minute thing that went wrong with it. He'd had enough. Come the weekend it was going the journey. Maybe he'd get a few bucks from the scrap metal, it was about all it was worth.

Dubiously contemplating the money he had left, Chandler stopped at an ATM, but hesitated as he took his card from his wallet. If tonight ran true to form, he wouldn't be surprised if the machine swallowed it. Shaking his head slightly, he shoved his card in the slot. It was just paranoia, he was entitled to a touch of that. Moments later though, an unexpected beeping sound from the ATM made him stare at the screen in disbelief. What was going on here? This was the kind of luck to give even Dana Scully pause for thought. Chandler briefly thought about giving up and getting a hotel room for the night, but didn't really want to stretch this cursed trip out a minute longer than he had to. Just wanting tonight to be over and done with, he went back to the phonebox and called a cab to make the hour long journey home.

* * *

The thunderstorm got worse as the cab neared Manhattan. By the time it reached Chandler's apartment block, forks of light were flashing through the sky almost every second and the thunder sounded like it was actually tearing the sky apart. As it turned out the fare was more than Chandler had - what a surprise! In the first piece of fortune he'd had though, the driver turned out to be a fellow Steelwolf fan and settled for taking his last set of Alexander Hamiltons.

Chandler felt like hell. His was tired, broke and his clothes were soaked through. At least it was all over now though.

It wasn't!

Chandler's scream of pain stuck in his throat when upon touching the handle of the entrance, an errant fork of lightning struck him, flinging him several feet backwards. Lying on the sidewalk, he felt his limbs spasm as every nerve in his body fired. His breathing was ragged and his vision blurry. Eventually, what seemed like hours but was really only minutes later, his breathing settled down and he stopped twitching. The dark sky above continued to pelt water on him as if mocking him for dismissing the power of fate.

Chandler lifted himself up. Typical for the population of New York, no-one had paid any attention to him, most likely assuming him to be drunk. He checked himself over and was surprised he wasn't more injured by the bolt. Probably something to thank the soles of his DMs for. Only the tips of his fingers where he'd touched the handle were slightly singed. He winced as he blew on them. Looked like he wasn't going to be playing anything for a few days, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.

Chandler stiffly got to his feet, blinking a couple of times as he realised his surroundings were still a little out of focus. Looking up at the heavens, he saw the odd flash of light high up, but nothing more. The storm must be passing at last.

Stepping up to the building's entrance, he tentatively grasped the handle, then rushed inside. Moving over to the elevator, his heart fell when he saw the 'out of order' sign. Typical! He almost didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to the third floor, but made it. Chandler let himself slump forward, his head hitting the door to apartment seventeen as he fumbled for his key. Pushing the key in the lock, he twisted it, then frowned as it wouldn't turn.

For God's sake, one little turn, that's all he wanted. He was so close. He twisted the key again, but no joy. In desperation he thumped on the door. Relief flooded through him as the door opened, but relief turned to fear and confusion as he was confronted by a bearded man wearing boxer shorts. "What do you want?" the man asked angrily. "We're trying to sleep here."

"What... do I want? What the hell do you want? This is my apartment," he said, the fear remaining, but the confusion turning to anger. This was the last straw. After everything that had happened tonight, for someone to be robbing his apartment... in their underwear...

Hang on!

"You're drunk!" the man sneered.

Chandler's eyes flicked to the door again. After tonight, he could fully believe himself trying to get into the wrong apartment. It definitely said seventeen though, so this guy definitely shouldn't have been here. "This is my apartment!" Chandler said more forcefully and pushed his way past him. The sight that greeted him wasn't what he expected though. He didn't recognise anything, all of his furniture, all of his things had gone. He turned around. The man was now holding a bat in his hands.

"I'm warning you man. Get out of my apartment or you're gonna be sorry."

"Listen," Chandler said hurriedly, "I don't know what's going on here, but this _is_ my apartment. Goddamnit, I have the key." He started to hold out his key with the number seventeen clearly etched into it, but the man thinking the gesture to be a threat, swung his bat, missing Chandler's head by inches but hitting his forearm, forcing him to drop the key on the floor as he backed away, in pain yet again.

Chandler ducked as the man swung for a second time and scrambled in a crouched posture across the floor, almost diving out of the front door. "And don't come back!" the man shouted at him as he slammed the door shut and locked it once again.

Chandler slowly got up from the floor. He didn't understand this, he didn't understand any of it. What was happening? This had gone way beyond a simple run of bad luck, no matter how prolific. As he stared at the door to the apartment that seemingly wasn't his anymore, he realised there was only one place he could go now.


	2. Running on Empty

Monica opened her bedroom door and walked over to the telephone, clearly irritated at her sleep being interrupted. "Yes?" she barked, picking it up on the umpteenth ring.

There was a brief pause before the caller spoke. "Sorry for waking you up, Mon."

"Chandler?" she queried.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, can you come pick me up at the 10th precinct? They're not letting me out without an escort."

"10th precinct?" she asked, thoroughly confused. "Chandler, what's going on?"

There was another pause. "Do you want the long version or the short version?"

"Let's try the short version and go from there," Monica humoured him.

"Well... I got mugged!"

Monica was alarmed. "What? How... where... are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I've already given my statement, I think the cops are just worried that if I walk into oncoming traffic, I'll end up suing them for their annual doughnut budget. He didn't hit me that hard, there's hardly even a lump."

"He attacked you?" Monica exclaimed.

"Muggers tend to do that when you refuse to give them money," Chandler quipped. "I'm fine really. I'm just... really tired."

Monica heard him stifle a yawn. "I'll... I'll come straight down," she told him.

"Thanks, Mon. See you in a bit," Chandler replied and hung up.

Trembling, Monica put the receiver down, then bolted straight for her bedroom.

* * *

"Can you wait a few minutes?" Monica asked the cab driver as she stepped outside into a fine drizzle.

"The meter's runnin' lady, I ain't in no hurry," came his reply.

This was going to cost her, but she couldn't very well have walked here, not at this hour. Besides which, Chandler hadn't sounded in any condition to make the trip back on foot. Briefly looking up at the precinct insignia, she hurried into the building, out of the rain. Walking up to the desk, she attracted the attention of the nightshift desk sergeant. "I'm come to pick up Chandler Bing," she told him.

"Bing," the officer repeated, searching his memory. After a few seconds, he gave up and looked at the papers to the side of him.

Monica gazed around nervously, then unexpectedly spotted him sitting on one of the benches lining the wall to her left. "It doesn't matter, I've found him," she said before rushing over. She crouched down as she reached him. Chandler's eyes were closed and his head slumped against his precariously propped-up arm. He wasn't kidding on the phone, he looked absolutely exhausted. Her eyes momentarily fixed on the taped pads around his fingers. What did the mugger do to him? "Chandler!" she whispered, giving him a gentle shake.

"Huh?" he murmured, stirring slightly. His eyes cracked open, then a moment later he pulled himself up, blinking rapidly. "Must've dozed off." He yawned involuntarily. "I'm sorry for trailing you all the way up here."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Let's just get you home, okay?" They stood up together and made their way back over to the desk, Monica keeping a close eye on him. "Anything I need to sign?" she asked the officer.

The sergeant looked vaguely puzzled as he scanned the paper in his hand, but pushed it over to her with a shrug. "Just at the bottom, ma'am."

Monica saw her name typed on the sheet and quickly scribbled her signature on the line underneath with the cheap standard issue biro. "Thanks for looking after him," she told the officer.

"Didn't need looking after," Chandler grumbled as he walked alongside Monica, out of the station.

"Of course you didn't," she humoured him with a touch of sarcasm.

"If I can survive lightning, I can survive anything," he muttered in reply.

Monica shot him a look. Did she just hear him right? Lightning? Chandler was oblivious though and Monica didn't want to press him, at least not while they were getting wet. He obediently got into the cab after her and lay back as she told the driver to make the return journey. "So what happened...?" Monica started, turning back to Chandler. She trailed off though as she saw his eyes were already closed. As curious as she was, she let him sleep.

* * *

Chandler's eyes flipped open again as Monica nudged him. "We're home."

"Home sweet home," she heard him say as she sorted through her money and paid the driver. Getting out of the cab, Monica saw him standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was a distant expression on his face. "Are you okay?" she asked him, putting a hand on his arm.

He turned his head to look at her. "I will be. I just feel... I don't know... disconnected?"

"Well, not much further now," she told him, "then you can sleep all you want."

Chandler blinked before following her into the building. They stayed silent as they walked up the flight of stairs, but Monica felt a little strange. She turned her head to find Chandler looking at her. "You've had it cut!" he said.

Monica was bemused for a second, the sentence seemingly a non-sequitur. She then smiled slightly, rolling her eyes as she realised what exactly he was looking at. "I should've known a little thing like exhaustion wouldn't stop you. Enough about the hair for one night though, okay?" she asked him.

Chandler was silent for a moment. "I was just going to say it looks okay."

Monica snorted.

"No really. I mean the stylist wants shot, but the length is fine. Even it out, layer it properly and it could be a good look."

Monica looked dubiously at him, but he seemed serious. "I'm getting it sorted out tomorrow... hopefully. Do you really think it might work out?"

Chandler fell silent again and Monica started to colour slightly under his scrutiny. "Yeah, I do," he smiled at her.

Monica met his eyes, then turned away, embarrassed. What just happened there? The way he'd been looking at her... She shook her head slightly as they reached their respective apartments. "Do you want to talk... about what happened?" she asked hesitantly.

"Where do I start?" Chandler wondered out loud. He yawned again a moment later, as if on cue.

"It doesn't matter," Monica told him quickly. "You get your rest, you can tell me tomorrow."

"No!" Chandler said suddenly. "You've got to hear this. It's like something out of the X-Files. I'm not sure I believe it all myself. Can I have a cup of coffee or something?"

Monica unlocked her door and walked inside, expecting him to follow. _X-Files?_ "Are you sure?" she queried. "It'll just keep you up. You really look like you need your sleep, Chandler."

He blinked again as if trying to shrug off the weariness. "Sleep can wait," he replied enigmatically as he closed the door behind him. He started to make his way to the kitchen when Monica turned on a lamp, but stopped dead in his tracks as he took in his illuminated surroundings. Monica gave him a curious glance as she passed him, but then started making the coffee he requested.

"Monica?"

She stopped what she was doing, a little spooked by the peculiar tone to his voice. "What?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

Chandler opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. It was like he was struggling to find the words.

"What's wrong?" she repeated.

He started to gesture all around. "Did you redecorate?"

Monica mentally sighed, preparing herself for another of his usual jokes, but then furrowed her brow as the punchline didn't come. He actually looked serious. That was the second time she'd been caught out in as many minutes. Looking around the apartment herself, she wondered what Chandler could be referring to. Nothing seemed different or out of place. When she turned her attention back to him, he'd already wandered over to the lounge area. "Chandler?"

When she got no response, she walked over to him. "Chandler?" He jumped at the hand on his shoulder, his head whipping around. Monica immediately pulled her hand away. "What happened to you?" she asked worriedly. The mugging must have affected Chandler more that the police thought. She saw a helpless expression pass his face, then he raised his hand, rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb.

"Nothing's making any sense," he muttered, his head spinning. "Maybe I do need some sleep." Feeling like he was about ready to collapse anyway, he slumped onto the couch, shrugged his jacket off and started to pull up his feet.

"Shoes!" Monica suddenly cried out, wincing as she saw him jump again. "Sorry! But..."

Chandler looked confused for a moment, then wordlessly pulled his shoes off and lay back, grabbing a cushion to use as a pillow.

Monica was equally as confused as he settled himself on the couch. He was going to sleep here? Surely he'd be more comfortable in bed? Then again, he did look pretty disorientated. Maybe he didn't trust himself to make it across the hall. "Chandler?" she whispered. She could see he'd already drifted off though. Monica considered getting a blanket for him, but it was a warm enough night, unusually so for September actually. Unable to do anything more for him, Monica left him there and returned to her bedroom. She had a feeling that sleep wasn't going to come to her so easily though.


End file.
